


Loved By You

by andromedacrawley



Series: Filling in the Gaps [6]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Honeymoon, Marriage, Romance, only a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedacrawley/pseuds/andromedacrawley
Summary: "That's not what I meant," Matthew assured her, hand moving to hers, which was resting in his stomach. He felt her ring there as he moved her hand up, before brushing his lips over her knuckles. "I meant that... well, I love being loved by you."Moments from Mary and Matthew’s honeymoon.
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley
Series: Filling in the Gaps [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812127
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Loved By You

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day!

It had been years since Mary had been to France, but it was hard to enjoy stepping foot on foreign soil when her thoughts were concerned only with her husband.

 _Husband._ The word thrilled her— Matthew was hers now, completely and wholly. Never again would she need to worry about someone else coming along to steal him away, never doubt his devotion to her... He was hers and she was his.

She had been surprised when he suggested they honeymoon there. After the war, she was more than prepared to go elsewhere— Spain, perhaps, or Italy, but Matthew had insisted. "It will be good for me... to make new memories," he insisted, cradling her hand in his. "And with you by my side, I know I can face it."

He seemed distracted as their luggage was loaded into the car, eyes far away as if he wasn't standing beside her at the port. Wanting to will him back to her, Mary squeezed his hand. That did the trick, as he seemed to return to himself, glancing over to look at her with a warm smile.

Mary felt better once they were at their hotel. It was a large suite, with a balcony overlooking the beach. She threw open the doors, stepping out to look at the blue waters. Only a few seconds later, Matthew joined her, arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her back to rest on his chest. "Isn't it marvelous?" She murmured, in a wistful way she wasn't accustomed to.

Matthew hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the place where her neck met her shoulders. Mary let her eyes close, one hand reaching out to the railing on the balcony and the other to meet his hand on her hip. "Just beautiful," he whispered, and she knew he wasn't talking about the ocean view.

* * *

The sound of one speaking French always momentarily started him, bringing him back to the trenches for a second before he quickly remembered where he really was. It seemed so strange... his memories of the language were so discordant to the opulence and beauty he found himself surrounded by.

The one time he never slipped back into war was when he heard Mary speak it. Considering how she had always been his light, it only made sense that he couldn't associate her with the darkness.

"How did you learn to speak French so well?" Matthew implored after Mary ordered them some wine. They were sitting across from one another in the hotel dining room, the dulcet strains of a harp in the background.

"My governess," she responded. He felt the toe of her shoes rubbing circles near his ankle. It took all he could do not to react; displays of affection in public wasn't Mary's forte... nor his, really. However, these private touches, unbeknownst to anyone else, thrilled him. "It was one of the few things I retained... though I am a little out of practice."

Matthew smiled ever so slightly. He had noticed the way she had spoken slowly to their waiter, enunciating things more carefully than she did in English. No one would mistake her for a native speaker, but the sound of it was almost melodious... at least to his ears. "It's impeccable," he told her.

"You're just saying that." Her foot moved higher, now on his leg. A year ago, he never would have been able to feel that... How glad he was that he could. Mary wore a serene smile, one that betrayed nothing, but she knew exactly what she was doing. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"It's not flattery if it's the truth," Matthew insisted, her foot dipping down again.

The waiter returned with the wine and Mary moved her foot away, as if they had been caught... but once he informed them their food would be out shortly, Matthew felt her foot bump against his again.

* * *

Even though the opera house was full of people, Mary couldn't help but feel as though they were alone in the safety of their private box... especially when the lights went out, bathing them in darkness.

It wasn't until the second act that Mary began growing somewhat restless. A part of her regretted suggesting a night out, especially when she so enjoyed their nights in... but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Even so, her eyes flickered to Matthew, whose focus was diverted towards the stage. He never failed to fascinate her... her eyes roved over the expanse of his face, cataloguing each feature as if it was the first time she was looking upon him.

As the opera began nearing its end, Mary's hand finally settled itself on Matthew's knee, acting on the thoughts she hadn't been able to clear from her mind. He let out a soft gasp. "Mary, what are you doing?"

She glanced over to him. "Do you want me to stop?" She asked.

Matthew held her gaze before shaking his head. With a devilish grin, she continued.

"You didn't answer my question," he asked, voice low and near her ear, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Watching an opera, of course."

"That's not exactly what I was referring to, darling," said Matthew, voice somewhat shaky as her hand reached mid thigh.

She finally turned her head, meeting his eye. "I'll ask you again: do you want me to stop?" She would, if that's what he wanted.

"No," he breathed, prompting her fingers to flex. He inhaled sharply, the sound more pleasing to her ear than that of the singers on stage. She held his gaze a moment or so longer, feeling both powerful and vulnerable at once. As she averted her eyes back to the stage, she inched her fingers towards his inner thigh before skirting away.

Her hand was dangerously high up when Matthew whispered, "Mary," in a warning voice.

She hushed him, hoping he couldn't see her smile. "I'm trying to concentrate... my Italian isn't very good."

"I'm having a hard time concentrating myself, funnily enough," he said, voice strained yet entirely too composed. Mary's hand slid up further, causing Matthew to reach out and take her hand. "Darling, we can't, not here..."

"I wasn't planning to here."

"Maybe so." He angled his head so his lips were by her ear. "But if you keep doing what you've been doing, it'll be rather awkward when the lights come up. So you better stop now."

In spite of everything, Mary felt her cheeks grow warm. She didn't blush easily, but the lowness of his voice and the subject at hand made her certain she was sporting a pink tinge to her cheeks. She was glad it was dark. All the same... it was nice to know she had such a profound effect on him. "I see."

"Later." His grip on her hand tightened, lips still near her ear. Her heart stuttered in her chest, alive at the thought of what would happen once they returned back to their hotel room. "I promise."

"You'd better," she replied back, no edge to her voice, words coming out as a gasp.

* * *

Sleeping next to Mary was easier than he thought it might be. The first night together, Matthew had hardly slept a wink, even after his beautiful wife had succumbed to the siren's call of slumber. He was entranced by her, studying every inch of her as she curled up by his side in sleep. He wondered how he was ever supposed to rest when he felt so awake, so alive. Matthew recalled how the sun had shone in through their window, illuminating her in a golden glow as it rose in the sky, before his own eyelids grew heavy.

But now, two weeks into marriage, he felt contented when he was next to her, as if he were home. So when he heard whimpering, he thought he had dreamed it. His eyes cracked open, dimly registering their darkened hotel room. Mary was resting on her side, her back facing him. There wasn't another soul in the room... Convinced he had envisioned it, Matthew settled back down on his pillow, only to hear Mary suddenly cry out. "No... please..."

Matthew jolted up, panicked. She sounded so frightened... "Mary," he said, reaching over to shake her shoulder ever so slightly. "My darling, wake up!"

His franticness ebbed away when Mary's eyes opened. "Matthew?" She mumbled.

"I'm here, my darling," he said as she too sat up, turning to face him. "It's alright. It was just a dream."

Mary said nothing, eyes merely flitting about the room, soaking in her surroundings before landing on him. There was a stretch of silence before Matthew hesitantly asked, "What was it?"

Mary shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

It made Matthew sad, to know she had been in such distress. Still, he wouldn't push. "That's alright." He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead. At once, she seemed to melt into him, and his arms reached out to hold her close. He lowered them back down, her hand reaching out to rest on his heart.

Out of the two of them, he had expected it would be her dealing with him after a bout with nightmares. The war had left permanent scars on him, both physical and mental, meaning there were some nights he was transported back to that hell. Blessedly, since marrying, he hadn't been tormented in sleep.

Matthew wondered what it could have possibly been. Everyone had nightmares, he supposed, but he also knew that there were times she had been tested. A part of him thought maybe it had something to do with Kemal Pamuk, a subject he tried not to breach, not wanting that wretched man to play any part in what existed between them, and certainly not on their honeymoon.

But of course, she had suffered during the war as well. While she hadn't been on the battlefield, she had been stuck at Downton, worrying about him all the while. Matthew tugged her even closer, silently chastising himself for the way he had let things get out of hand. What must it have been like for her, him walking out of her life and disappearing to France with no idea of where he was or if he was alright? Then to return to Downton, with another woman...

His poor Mary. Her breathing evened out, telling him she was asleep. As bitter and jaded as he had been at the time, knowing now the burden she carried with her silently made him ashamed of his actions. He vowed to himself to never put her through that same pain again.

* * *

The powdery white sand was smooth against the soles of her feet as they walked along the shoreline. The sun was bright orange, sinking beneath horizon and seemingly into the waves. It was such a beautiful sight that Mary found herself transfixed by it.

"It's hard to believe we've been here for two weeks already," said Matthew softly, just loud enough for her to here. "It feels as if we just arrived yesterday."

"And now it's almost over," sighed Mary. Soon it wouldn't be just the two of them any longer; soon, the whole family would be competing for their attentions. Mary loathed to think of their blissful peace shattered by the chaos of her family and the troubles at Downton...

She stopped herself. No; she wouldn't allow herself to worry about Downton, not on her honeymoon. She had made that resolve to herself in the early hours of the morning on their wedding day. This trip was about her and Matthew— and nothing else.

"Not over." Mary turned her head away from the glittering ocean waves to look upon his sunlit face. "This is just the beginning, my darling."

A smile tugged on her lip. It was harder now, to keep her true feelings hidden from him... but she didn't mind. Not at all. If there was anyone in this world she trusted to see the real her, it was Matthew.

"So it is." In a moment of impulsiveness, she took his hand. She noted his surprise; she wasn't one for public displays of affection. But they were in France, where nobody knew them, and she was all too happy to be allowed the opportunity. Her heart grew as he smiled wide, squeezing her hand ever so slightly.

* * *

There were innumerable benefits to being married— one of them being that he could always ask her the questions bouncing around in his head late at night.

On their last evening in France, Matthew thought of one he had pondered for ages, ever since Cousin Violet had come to his room after he announced his desire to wed Lavinia. "When did you realize you were in love with me?" Matthew asked, gaze diverted at the ceiling but an arm wrapped around Mary's bare shoulders.

He felt her stir beside him, the ends of her hair ticking his skin. "What makes you ask that?"

"I'm curious."

Mary rolled over, her cheek touching his chest, head resting on his arm. The room was filled with silence, but Matthew swore he could hear her thinking. "I didn't realize it until you proposed to me," she finally said, and he could feel her speaking, feel her breath and the movement of her lips. It was heavenly, feeling her exist beside him. "In the dining room... so I'm afraid I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"And what sort of thing is that?"

"Love."

He shook his head before angling his neck in such a way to look at her. Even before their eyes met, he could feel her gaze on him, almost as if it were a physical touch. "I disagree," he told her. "I think you're very good at it."

Even though it was dark, he knew she was rolling her eyes. "Do you ever think of anything else?" She was teasing him.

He chuckled. "That's not what I meant," Matthew assured her, hand moving to hers, which was resting in his stomach. He felt her ring there as he moved her hand up, before brushing his lips over her knuckles. "I meant that... well, I love being loved by you."

She lifted her head up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he began, momentarily distracted as he reached out to brush back several strands of her hair from her face, "that just being with you... having you as my wife... It's the best thing that's ever happened to me." He swallowed back the emotion that had gathered within him in order to say, "You've been so wonderful. I don't know what I ever did to be so lucky as to have you in my life. That alone would be blessing enough but... well, knowing you love me, too."

"You do know that I do, don't you?" She rolled over so was facing him, tangling herself into the sheets. There was an imploring look in her dark eyes. "Even though I don't say it often? It's hard for me to vocalize it—"

Matthew silenced her with a kiss. "Just because you don't always say those three words doesn't mean you don't tell me." He stroked her smooth hand. "You tell me in your own way. Like when you massage my back because I've mentioned it aches or distract me when you know I'm thinking about the war... when you make love to me."

It was strange, that there had once been a time where he wouldn't have believed any of this to be possible. He recalled their unfortunate first meeting all too well, when he had proclaimed loudly about his desire to never marry one of Lord Grantham's daughters... and now here he was, with that same wonderful woman, who he loved more than life itself.

A brilliant smile formed on her face and the sight caused his heart to race. "Oh, my darling," she whispered into the quiet of the night before leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss.


End file.
